verse 1:

while McCandless wondered into the wild alone/ some of us emotionally starved and died in that bus at home
from coke cloned nostrils/ to preaching to your favorite bottle apostles

then back to the club to find a chick who`ll play nurse to your dr. in the hospital

A little game we call: float up creek with the other pieces of shit creep

remember cloak your sith motive<when twisting minds> when flashing a vader mask
keep the face underneath hydrocloric acid corroded

hook:
with wicked alibias under a cruel sky
surrel for real
deeper then a ...deeper then a....hump like a snow hill

captain of this ship but you might catch wreck...

ready, ready,READY Break...

with wicked alibias under a cruel sky

verse 2:

the son of bastard chimp mastered a facist limp<loaded>
from the canon to pistol river

with deliverance into the wilderness and a heart for material- LESS militant
should`ve packed a defence for this credence
clear water kayak down a silo
pinholes in the bottom to slowly drown in spirals

smothered in the laughter of a swing hiel inside the bridal party
its smallish/damn its lungfish

dragging like mudpuppies mimicking an axe swing at the ankles timbering peaceful siblings
drag that leg connected to a prosethic foot in yellow chuckie tees

oh by the way-

why booze hounds howl a rusty flunkie`s creed in vagrant huddles
with latent rebuddles/ drunk in Flavor Flav clocks lookin like Dali must of
painted those from the shameless pose and lusting or the way the seconds must of dripped down our throats

of course we crushed --lined out!!!---
where hairless rats take one way trips and rides down spine mouth

hook---

verse 3:

the kid who held rings threw rice at your wedding is the same kid who supplied ya groomsmen with dice for illegal betting

lets not be satisfied with this conflict scenario/ like Nash we`ll compromise, kiss delusions good-bye then receive a prize

to standing -o`s cheers with barely any barley in a beer mug wary
b-cuz fortune favors the brave/ unfortunately she also enjoys yawning graves/<and collecting slaves>

and since principles wage war from a distance- we`ll have to train for long range accuracy consistantly
then cleverly announce sainthood
wrapped in cobra skin windbreakers and steadily shed that persona on dance floors with girls and salt on their rim shakers

next pour in the tequila/lick and squeeze her back to soft sernades and stumble staggered binge drunk seizures

then finally return to our regularly perscribed patteren of forming the angled trajectory that would bless us with a popeless vatican
and gremlin back to the tavern to gwawk in shock,shrill and scream an act like<what a horrible accident>

hook-